Aurelia
by Clopin-Trouillefou
Summary: The Aurelia family is on their way back to the Court of Miracles after being gone for ten years. Trouble ensues on the return trip. Only two survive, and they meet some of our favorite movie characters along the way. Rated T for violence. Rating will go u
1. The Demise of Latimer and Eskarne

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any characters from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but I do own Galor, Gitana, Celie, Latimer, Eskarne, or Dartagnan.**

It was dead quiet in a small village near the outskirts of Paris, France. Eight year old Gitania Aurelia and six year old Celie Aurelia lay asleep in the back of their family's wagon. Latimer and Eskarne Aurelia whispered amongst themselves near the front. The shadows played among the two, slipping inside through the partially open door. Every so often the couple would stop and look outside, as to make sure there was no one else around.

"Eskarne, relax. Everything is fine. Judge Frollo cannot capture us out here. We are not in Paris, there is nothing to fear. I promise," Latimer said and smiled down at his wife of ten years. Eskarne smiled back up at him with a look of feigned reassurance on her face. While she was gazing at his aging face, she couldn't help but notice the increased number of wrinkles he had. His black eyes were surrounded by creases, and even his black hair was graying, despite his balding.

"I know, I know. But no matter where we go, I'll always be afraid of Frollo or his guards arresting us. And the children..." Eskarne trailed off, lost in thoughts and memories of Frollo burning her mother and father at the stake after a false accusation of murdering his niece. Tears welled up in her eyes and Latimer pulled her into his arms.

"You're thinking about your parents again, aren't you?" he asked while stroking his wife's hair.

"They're always on my mind. I can barely even remember them. The only thing that comes back to my mind is my mother's last words to me, she told me to return to the Court of Miracles with her future-grandchildren. She didn't want our daughters to be raised in a caravan. I don't blame her. Gitana and Celie haven't had the chance to make a single friend. They belong with our people, and for them I am prepared to return to Paris, to return to the Court of Miracles. I just hope that Dartagnan Trouillefou is still the King of the Court," Eskarne's eyes glittered as she recalled memories of life in the Court from when she was a child.

"You know, you never did tell me how you ended up moving from Spain to France," noted Latimer, who had been born and raised a French gypsy.

"Well, my mother was a Spanish gypsy, and my father was half gadje-half gyspy. I was conceived a week before they were to be married to one another. My mama's family found out and disowned her, because as you know, it's a terrible dishonor to be with child before you are married. My papa had always wanted to see the world, so they decided to travel with a passing caravan. I was born while the caravan was passing through Greece, and my mama missed her family terribly so she begged my father to take her back to Spain. He agreed, because he wanted nothing more than to make her happy, even though he knew my grandpere would not see her. My mama was heartbroken after her papa turned her away. My parents walked towards the west to try to find a shelter or a passing caravan to join, luckily, they succeeded in finding one. In fact, it was Dartagnan Trouillefou's father's caravan. They took pity on my parents and told them they would bring them to a place where any gypsy could call home. That is how I, and my parents, happened to live in the Court of Miracles for the first thirty years of my life," explained Eskarne with tears in her eyes from reliving her earliest memories.

"That must have been awful for them. At least nothing like that had to happen to us," sighed Latimer, wiping away his wife's tears. The couple sat in the surrounding silence, staring out the door, as if captivated by the arrangement of trees and rocks. Eskarne pointed to a rabbit near the edge of the woods. Latimer quietly jumped out of the caravan, making sure as not to scare the creature away. Suddenly, the rabbit turned and looked off into the distance, an urgent expression in it's small eyes, and with that it darted off into the woods. After this display of fright Latimer decided to listen quietly to see if someone was coming. A mask of fright plastered itself onto his face as he jumped back into the wagon.

"Horses. Two of them. They're coming from the direction Paris is in, so I'm assuming they're Frollo's guards," he stopped when he saw the look of fright on his wife's face. "Don't be scared. Wake the children."

Latimer took another look out the door and jumped back down from the wagon. Eskarne handed him little Celie, and with his other hand he helped his wife out of the wagon, who held Gitana in her arms. The tall gypsy man signaled for Eskarne to follow him into the woods with their eldest daughter.

"I want you to go deeper in with our children," he whispered as he handed the half asleep Celie to his frightened wife.

"Latimer, I won't leave you to the same fate my parents had!" exclaimed the shorter female gypsy.

"I'll be alright, I promise. Now, please, just do as I say. If not for me, do it for the children. S'il vous plait," Latimer requested, knowing she would oblige as she did everytime he accented his French.

Tears welled in Eskarne's eyes as she kissed her husband and retreated deeper into the woods. From behind she could hear the horsemen approach and begin to talk to Latimer. She turned to see what was going on as the guards raised their voices. Her stomach lurched as the shorter of the two guards beheaded her beloved husband right before her very eyes. A small sob escaped her lips and the guards turned their attention to the grove of trees where the three remaining gypsies were hiding.

Fear overtook Eskarne and she ran, Celie in her arms, Gitana's hand in hers. She stopped behind a tree to whisper to Gitana, "Mama loves you Gitana. Papa loved you too. If I don't see you when the guards are gone, I want you to stay here. Stay here until the sun comes up then run. Run to Paris. Find another gypsy and ask them how to get to the Court of Miracles," these words only caused Gitana to start crying, but she nodded in obedience nonetheless. Eskarne pulled her into a tight hug, then ran, leaving her there in the safe hiding spot, so as to draw attention away from her.

All of a sudden Eskarne felt a sharp tug on her arm. With a wrench of her body she was mere inches away from the face of Frollo's guard.

"You're under arrest, gypsy witch!" spat the guard.

"For what?" she spat back haughtily.

"Witchcraft, as said by Judge Frollo, all gypsies out past curfew practice their witchcraft, and are to be put under arrest and delivered to the Palais du Justice," replied the guard that had beheaded Latimer.

"The only witchraft here is that of which your _esteemed_ Judge Frollo has played on your minds," whispered Eskarne menacingly. She caught out of the corner of her eye Gitana coming towards her and a look of fear washed over her face.

"Now you're scared. And you should be. Jacques, you know what Frollo wants us to do with those who don't cooperate," and with that, Jacques pushed Eskarne to the ground and slit her throat, the force of the blade also making a cut on Gitana's side. Gitana fell to the ground in pain, not saying a word, just listening to the sick laughter of the guard's and to the crying of Celie. She felt a slight kick to her body, undoubtedly for the guard's to be sure she was dead. A wave of dizziness passed over the eight year old, and in her last moments of consciousness she heard her younger sister's cries grow further and further away.


	2. A New Beginning

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Hunchback of Notre Dame. That is owned by Disney and Victor Hugo. All I own is Gitana, Eskarne, Latimer, Celie, Jacques, Algernon, Dartagnan, and Audric.**

To a few of my reviewers:

**Brad**: Thank you for giving me words of encouragement as I worked on the first chapter, and I might even throw in another beheading for you somewhere along the way. ;)  
**Adia**: Celie and Gitana will both work to make this story amazing, along with the help of some other characters that are going to take MAJOR roles in the story. I hope I do not let you down.  
**Lynn**: Sadly, I was rushing myself to finish when I made it towards the end of the chapter. In the future I may edit chapter 1 to clarify a few of your questions, but for now, I'll do it here. Well, I want readers to assume that Eskarne hadn't gotten that far since stopping with Gitana. I really hope you continue to read as the chapters grow.  
**Bernie**: Thank you for your review. I would have had Latimer and Eskarne be more active, but they were sitting in the dark trying not to wake their children. I hope you continue to read the story.

_Now_, on to the story.

**Chapter Two: A New Beginning**

Gitana Aurelia awoke the next morning with a tear stained face and a blood caked dress. She stood up and stretched, but was reminded of the cut on her side by the pain that immediately followed as the scab was pulled. The girl took in her surroundings now that it was daylight, and as she did so, she tried to avoid looking at her mother's body.

'The guards left that way,' she noted to herself as her gaze landed on retreating footprints. With that, she started to walk along the trail the two men had left the night before. After making her way to the forest's edge, her parent's wagon in sight, Gitana turned back to the trees.

"Je t'aime Mama. Je t'aime Papa," she whispered, tears flooding her eyes once more.

_Morning in Paris, the city awakes_

_To the bells of Notre Dame_

_The fisherman fishes, the bakerman bakes_

_To the bells of Notre Dame_

_To the big bells as loud as the thunder_

_To the little bells soft as a psalm_

_And some say the soul of the city's_

_The toll of the bells_

_To the bells of Notre Dame_

Gitana heard the beautiful melody of church bells in the near distance. "The bells of Notre Dame! Just like mama sang to me!" she exclaimed excitedly, remembering the lullaby her mother always sang to her at night.

"Paris is close, that means I can find the Court of Miracles," she commented aloud to herself.

And indeed Paris was close, for as she followed the bend in the road, she came to a beautiful arrangement of storefronts and houses. Every so often there would be laundry strung out from one house to another, at other times she would see beggars in the street, pleading for food and money from the wealthier Parisians. A few passerbys gave the child disgusted looks, noticing both that she was a gypsy and her blood stained outfit. As she made her way to the town center, near the steps of Notre Dame, she took in the full effect of the gypsies of Paris. It seemed that on every corner or in front of every empty store there were gypsies begging or performing for money from the gadje citizens. To her left was a beautiful gypsy woman dancing to music played by two gypsy men, one with a tambourine and the other with a fiddle. This woman was obviously a very popular performer, seeing as she had one of the larger crowds in the square. But the attraction that really caught Gitana's eye was a brightly colored puppet wagon placed near a streetlight at the corner of Notre Dame.

"...and that is why we come to have puppeteers," proudly stated the man who had finished telling the story.

"But I thought that puppeteers were there to take all the credit for the work we puppets do!" exclaimed the man's puppet in a shrill voice, crossing it's little puppet arms across it's chest.

"No, no, no, you silly boy! We don't take credit for your work. The children love you! That's enough credit as it is!" the man clarified for his puppet, and to the delight of the children, the puppet uncrossed his arms and bowed goodbye to them. Once the curtain was pulled shut on the wagon, the children and their parents burst into applause for the performance and the coin bucket quickly filled with their appreciation and enjoyment.

Gitana was more interested in the man controlling the puppet than the bit of the performance she saw, not to say that she didn't enjoy the performance, oh, she did enjoy it, but he appeared to be friendly towards children, which was exactly what she needed.

She observed the man as he let the children play with his puppets and innocently flirted with their mothers. Everything about him seemed to have a kind, joyous edge to it. Even to the small eight year old, he appeared to be very handsome. He seemed to be in his mid-fourties. His neat black hair was starting to gray, and wrinkles were starting to form around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.

Gitana approached the man cautiously as he was talking with the mother of a short, pudgy, blonde boy of about ten. Once she was sure their conversation was ending, she asked "Um, excuse me mister, could you help me find my way?"

"I suppose we will see you tomorrow then, Dartagnan," smiled the mother of the boy, and with that she walked away, boy in tow.

'Dartagnan, that name sounds familiar,' she thought to herself.

"What is it I can do for you, sweetie?" he asked, stooping down on one knee so he was at her eye-level and smiling broadly, the slight trace of laughter still in his eyes.

"How do I get to the Court of Miracles?"

Alarm briefly flashed over his face, but was quickly replaced with another smile. He took Gitana by the arm, and guided her over to another street corner.

"You are to follow this street down to the cemetary, but once there, wait. One of our people will come for you, I promise. Now I need you to promise me something, too," he explained in a hushed whisper. Gitana's big brown eyes looking up at him were enough of an answer. "I need you to promise not to tell ANYONE where you're going. Never tell anyone you were told to wait in the cemetary. And do not try to enter the Court unless no gadje around."

And with that Dartagnan was gone, leaving Gitana all alone on the street corner.

* * *

"Judge Frollo, this gypsy girl was found in the wood's last night with her family. Her mother and father were killed, as ordered. I am sorry to report that she had a sister, but her death was accidental," reported Jacques nervously. As many times as he had done this, he could never do it comfortably, or, at least, not if he was reporting to Frollo.

"That will do. Take the girl to the servants chambers, give her name to Madame Fabrice, also, tell Fabrice to have her clean and alert, I expect her in my office at noon tomorrow to decide what to do with her. You are dismissed, gentlemen," Frollo stated, bored of listening to their silly reports.

Jacques and Bertrand let out the breath they hadn't noticed they were holding in. The pair walked out the door of Frollo's office in a hurry, obviously intimidated.

Frollo smiled to himself at the reaction he never failed to get out of his guards. He paced the length of the wall length window which served as his overlook on the town below.

'Oh, how things have changed,' the judge thought to himself as he fingered the emerald set into the ring on his hand. 'A few years ago I'd have given anything to be with Annette, that was, until _her people_ made a mockery of my family. No, she was not worth it after all.'

His thoughts were interrupted by a powerful knock on his office doors.

"Enter," he called out, rubbing his temples in annoyance.

"Bonsoir, Judge Frollo. You requested a meeting with me. My name is Audric Bailey, I was recently hired as Captain of the Guard," the newcomer stated.

Frollo walked over to the younger man, looking him over. The man definitely was built to be Captain of the Guard. Audric had a masculine build, harsh, grey eyes, short, blonde hair, perfectly straight posture, and an all around 'all business' look to him.

"Yes, you will do," Frollo nodded in approval. "Every night, after the bells ring eleven, you and your guards are to arrest any gypsy caught out on the street, that is your main concern. For now, leave me to my... business..."

Audric nodded in understanding, and with that, Frollo was once more alone in his office.

"Now I'll just have to deal with the new servant girl tomorrow. I suppose there is a use for gypsies while they're young after all."


	3. Meeting Madame Fabrice

**DISCLAIMER: I still do not own HoND. I only own the Aurelia's, Clopin's family - minus Clopin, of course- Fabrice, Bertrand, Jacques, and Audric as of now.**

**Bernie**: I hope that this chapter conveys the emotions of the characters better, at least in the slightest.  
**Courtney**: I hope this chapter gives your imagination a little bit of rest at least.

Chapter Three: Meeting Madame Fabrice

Celie Aurelia shook uncontrollably between the two guards keeping watch over her outside the large doors of the Palais du Justice. She had long since learned that to cry in front of these men would do no good, but of course she learned it the hard way.

_"Where's my mama? Where's my mama!" screamed Celie, tears spilling down her face._

_"I've told you once already, shut your trap. Maybe this time you'll listen," Jacques slapped the young girl across the face with his meaty hand._

As a set of great bells sounded nearby, Celie shuddered at the memory of the pain the man had inflicted upon her. She idly traced the bruise on her face with the fingertips on her right hand as the doors opened and the guards near her snapped back to attention. The guards who had kidnapped her the night before, Jacques and Bertrand, walked through the door and whispered to the tall man on her left.

"Gypsy girl, come with me," Bertrand ordered and stalked off down the street. Celie scurried after him, afraid of where he was leading her to.

"Will you tell me where we're going, monsieur?" asked the little girl with an innocent, almost pleading look on her face.

"Not yet," the man answered off-handedly, shaking his head, allowing his sandy brown hair to fall loosely under his guard's helmet. He quickened his pace a bit and Celie had to run a bit to catch up with him again. The two walked in silence together until they came to a smaller building attached to the side of the Palais du Justice.

This annex was certainly more run down than the few others like it they had passed on the way there. The black paint on the facade of the building was flaking off, and it looked as if you were to knock on the door too hard it would fall right off of its hinges.

As if to test that theory, Bertrand took the door knocker and brought it down on the door three times, hard. A bit of screaming was heard inside the building and then a frazzled looking woman answered.

"Yes?" she asked out of breath.

Bertrand stepped up to her and whispered a few words in her ear, causing her facial expression to first harden, then progressively grow softer. Once their whispered conversation was over, she looked at Celie and smiled.

"Come in, come in, my dear," she half-laughed. Celie quickly was pulled into the building and could finally take a good look at the woman. She appeared to be about twenty-eight years old. She wasn't afraid to show off her plump figure with the considerably provocative dress she was wearing. She had pulled her blonde tresses back into a half-ponytail. Her crystal blue eyes shone brightly as she looked over the small girl.

"I'm sorry, where have my manners gone, my name is Fabrice Marquet, you are to call me Madame Fabrice. And your name is?" Fabrice asked with a curious look on her face.

"Celie. Celie Aurelia. Why am I here?" she asked the cheery woman.

Bertrand selected this moment to excuse himself, kissing Madame Fabrice's hand goodbye, his lips lingering a moment longer than they usually would have. This made the woman giggle a bit, then shoo him out the door. With a sigh she turned back to Celie.

"Oh sweetie, you're going to live here now. You're one of the servants here, along with the other children," as if on cue, two boys passed through the hall yelling at one another. Fabrice shook her head and whispered a few words under her breath that Celie couldn't manage to hear.

"Where's my mama and Gitana?" she asked the woman, worry flooding through her.

A dark look crossed Fabrice's face but she quickly extinguished it and provided an answer for Celie. "Oh hunny, your family is dead. I'm sorry. We're your only family now."

Tears quickly sprang to Celie's eyes at the mention that her entire family was gone, but for some reason, she liked the idea of a new family.

"Okay," she whispered, and hugged the colourful woman before wiping her tears.

A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter, but I want to save what I have in store for Gitana for chapter four. I'll be posting the next chapter tomorrow hopefully.


	4. Of Claude and Annette

**DISCLAIMER: I still do not own any original HoND characters**.

**Author's Note**: Well, well, well, here we are with chapter four of Aurelia. I didn't expect to write so much for the first four chapters. In fact, I hadn't even planned to write this as a chapter at all. I sat down writing earlier today and what I had planned didn't come out, but the following did. This has probably been my favorite chapter to write so far. I hope that none of you are disappointed by it, and I hope that all of you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. To ward off any confusion, I would like to notify you that the italics signify a flashback and the normal text is present time. I would greatly appreciate it if you all would be kind enough to submit a review once you finish reading this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Of Claude and Annette**

_"Claude, you know I can't love you..." Annette trailed off. She turned her head so he wouldn't see the tears falling from her large green eyes._

_The young man stared at the woman standing before him, his pale, knobby hand gripping her small, dark one. He took in every angle of her petite frame, her womanly curves deeply accentuated by the snug fit of her dress. The breeze gently tugged on her long black curls which were tied back by a deep violet bandana._

_"Oh, but Mademoiselle Cossette, that doesn't stop you, does it?" he asked in what could barely even be described as a whisper. Standing up from his kneeling position on the grass he took her face with his hands and turned her face to his. Pain shot through his heart as he espied her perfect features contorted and obscured by tears._

_Annette's body shook as he pulled her in close. Claude ran his long fingers through her hair as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear in hopes of stopping her tears. The young gypsy woman in his arms unburied her head from his chest and looked up at his face. He placed a kiss on her forehead, then proceeding to kiss away the tears still forming in the corners of her eyes, first the left, then the right._

_"No," she choked out, a sob threatening to release itself._

_"No what?" Claude asked, his heartbeat quickening considerably. A wave of fear passed over him for the next words to come out of her mouth._

_"It doesn't stop me from loving you. Claude Frollo, I love you with all of my heart. I would die for you if that's what loving you is to mean," Annette's two emerald pools shone brightly as she spoke._

"And die you did, my love, all because of me," Claude Frollo sighed, staring into the fire, once more fingering the emerald ring on his left hand, the ring Annette had given him the morning before she was executed by her own people. The man sat back in his armchair and called another memory back from his past...

_The couple sat under a tree on the bank of the Seine while enjoying their midday meal. Claude had packed a lunch for the two of them to share on the four month mark since the first time they had joined as one soul. This day happened to be one of the rare occassions the two would meet with each other during the light hours. _

_Annette kept taking quick glances at Claude to make sure he wasn't paying attention and swipe a piece of fruit or break off a hunk of cheese from his plate and replace it with something she found distasteful of her own. Claude was very well aware of her little game, but decided to let her keep going._

_"Now darling, do you really think it's fitting to eat that much cheese in one day?" he asked teasingly. She quickly reddened at the revelation that he was on to her tricks._

_"Oh puh, you've caught me," Annette pouted, tousling his light brown hair._

_"I always do, darling," he grinned at her._

_She placed a light kiss on the very tip of his nose, "I know you do."_

_A look Claude didn't recognize came over his beloved's face as she stared out to what seemed the river, but her eyes were not focused._

_"Is anything the matter?" he asked, worry growing within him._

_"I don't know, maybe," a semi-peacful look settled on Annette's dark face. "Claude, I'm with child. Your child."_

_Happiness. Fear. Shock. These and what felt like millions of other emotions flooded through Claude at this bit of news._

_"Je t'aime, Annette. Vous et notre bébé," he choked out, pulling her to him._

_"Je t'aime aussi, Claude," a deeply saddened look crossed Annette's face._

_"What is it, what did you leave out?" Claude asked frantically after seeing her expression._

_"Dartagnan knows. The healers told him, as they do with every pregnancy. Everyone in the Court knows that I am not involved with any of the gypsy men. I face trial for having intimate relations with a gadje," she sobbed._

_'Oh what I'd do to hang each and every one of those damned gypsies. If only I knew the location of the Court of Miracles, I could tie a noose around the dark neck of each and every one to stand for this disgusting law of theirs,' the newly appointed Judge thought as pure hatred flooded through him for the first time in his life._

_Annette took his hand in hers, and slipped something small and cold into it. Claude picked up the object and inspected it carefully._

_"It's a ring that has been passed down in my family for centuries. My mama gave it to me the night before she was killed, now I give it to you as a reminder of my love for you. Never take it off as long as you still think of me. I will forever be with you. Whether in body or in spirit, I will be there for you. Any time you need someone to listen to you, I'll be there. I love you Claude. Never forget that. I love you. And if I do not live to morning to tell you of the trial, I want you to remember me, and I want you to wear this ring. Promise me you'll wear it, s'il vous plait," she explained. Claude slipped the ring residing on the ring finger of his left hand off and replaced it with the Annette's ring._

_"You will make it to tell me of the trial. You will make it to tell our baby of the trial ten years from now. I promise you, I will always wear this ring of yours as my fondest reminder of you. Now do me the same and wear this ring. This ring has been passed down from first born son to first born son in my family for nine generations. I would like a part of me to be with you at your trial, because I know your laws and I know I cannot stand with you, unless I wish to face the gallows. Je t'aime, Annette. I always will," Claude slipped the golden ring onto the thumb on her left hand, the only place it would fit._

_The couple came together in a tight embrace, both with tears running down their faces. Passion ensued as one would imagine, and the judge and the gypsy made love to each other on that secluded river bank in Paris. Annette's slim frame curled perfectly into Claude's larger frame, the two of them fitting into each other as perfectly as a puzzle. Claude placed a light kiss on Annette's cheek as he embraced her once more._

_"I love you, Annette. We will talk tomorrow, then?" he asked, not waiting for an answer, but kissing her lips with all the gentleness and love he could summon up. _

_"I love you, Claude. Remember me," she whispered into his lips, pulling away and running from the riverside, tears streaming down her face._

"Oh, Annette. You're still as real to me as if you were sitting in this chair with me," he whispered, tears forming in his cold, grey eyes. His last thoughts before falling into a deep sleep in his armchair bythe fire were of Annette.


	5. The Creation

**DISCLAIMER: I still do not own Hunchback of Notre Dame. All characters not mentioned in the book by name are my own creations. If you ever wish to use them for a story, send me a message and ask.**

**Author's Note**: I just keep getting carried away with my writing. When I first started formulating this story in my head I had formed this one scene in my head. It was my intention to include that scene in chapter two, but I was too happy with where it was going with Gitana meeting Dartagnan and all. I had wanted to incorporate Dartagnan as a larger character, and the chance presented itself there, so I planted the seed, and now Dartagnan plays as big a role as several other characters. After that I decided to play that scene out as chapter three, but Celie's new life presented itself as more important in that moment. So I moved that idea to chapter four, but when I began writing, I ended up writing a lengthy chapter on Frollo's past. I was angered with myself for falling through on my intentions three times, so I firmly told myself this morning that I would include that scene in this chapter. But, alas, I failed to deliver. I was once more carried away with the situation I created for the chapter, and this time I promise you, my loyal readers, and myself, that chapter six will be completely dedicated to the scene that started off the idea for Aurelia.

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Creation**

"I must surely be seeing things. Little Eskarne Gasso, well, Aurelia now, isn't a little girl anymore. She's a grown woman. That young girl must have been her daughter. Well, if she is, as I suspect, Eskarne must not be far from here," Dartagnan muttered to himself in fond memory of the little girl he had met when he was barely a man.

Dartagnan paced the inside of his puppet wagon, concentrating on the small girl who had so suddenly sparked up so many happy memories from his youth. The fourty-three year old man settled himself into the workbench near the small table he used to repair and create puppets. He cracked his knuckles and pulled out the children's favorite puppet, Padget.

"Ah, Padget, you and I have been through a lot together. We have a good twenty five years of puppeteering together under our belts, now, don't we?" he sighed affectionately to the wood and cloth figure on his hand.

"Well there sure is a lot more under my belt than there is under yours!" teased the puppet in its shrill little voice. The puppeteer chuckled to himself and lovingly set Padget onto a tattered cloth on his work table. On the shelf above the table was a vast assortment of paints, polishes, paintbrushes, carving tools, work rags, colored fabrics, sewing needles, a paint chipper, spools of thread and glue. Dartagnan took the paint chipper, paints, polish, and paintbrushes from the shelf.

"You're due for another tune-up," he murmured as he went to work chipping away the gleeful expression from Padget's face. Just as the master puppeteer was polishing the puppet's new expression, a knock sounded on the door of his wagon. With a sigh Dartagnan heaved himself up from his stool and walked over to the door. He pushed it open and found the head of the guard of the Court of Miracles, Eric Paverall, and his eldest son, Clopin, standing outside of the wagon.

"To what do I owe this extreme honour?" said Dartagnan sarcastically, a large smile plastered onto his face. His eleven year old son ran into the wagon and sorted through the puppet trunk, searching for his favorite doll. Dartagnan shook his head, still smiling, and stepped out of the wagon to speak to Eric.

"Bonjour, you majesty," Eric nodded to the King of Gyspies.

"Bonjour, Eric. Were you planning on staying to see Clopin back to the Court?" the aging king responded.

"Oui. Then I was going to attend to some... other matters afterwards," sighed the guard. He played with his golden hoop earring as he always did when he was nervous.

"Don't worry about Clopin tonight, I'll make sure he's home safe. Besides, I'm sure those other matters are more important than babysitting my son," Dartagnan clapped Eric on the back.

"Thank you, sir," the guard nodded. He ran a dark hand through his shaggy black waves of hair. "I'm afraid I must be on my way."

Dartagnan watched the gypsy guard retreat down the street, then turned his attention back to his son. He sighed as he noted how much Clopin looked like he did when he was that age. Even now, there was a strong resemblance between the father and the son. The two had the same shoulder-length black hair, the same black eyes, their noses were nearly the same, but Dartagnan suspected that Clopin's would grow longer still, Clopin took after his father with his puppeteering, acrobatics, temper, and self-esteem. Yet he still had his mother's singing talents, impatience, slender frame, and sense of humour.

"Papa, can we make my puppet today?" asked Clopin, begging his father with his big black eyes to agree to it.

"Of course we can," Dartagnan walked over to his son, who was already sitting on the workbench. Dartagnan noticed that Clopin had already gone ahead and chosen fabrics and paints to use. Dartagnan showed Clopin how to measure and cut the fabrics so they would fit his hand.

"Now remember, you're going to want to still use this puppet ten years from now, so make sure there's enough room in there for once your hand grows," he reminded his son. Clopin nodded and traced his father's hand to use as a guide.

"What next, Papa?" asked the young boy, eager as always to finish.

"Next you're going to sew his tunic and gloves together. Remember how you helped me fix Padget last month?" Dartagnan asked his son. Seeing Clopin nod in remembrance, he continued, "That is how you're going to do it. Remember, take the needle from the top to the under of the fabric so the children won't be able to see the thread when you perform for them."

Clopin slaved away over his puppet's body while his father mixed paint colors for him. As soon as Dartagnan had finished mixing the paints, Clopin was dipping his brush into the black paint to draw a mouth onto his puppet's round head. Dartagnan chuckled silently to himself at his son's impatience, yet exquisite techniques.

"Papa, could I give him a hat?" Clopin asked, interrupting his father's thoughts.

"Of course you could, did you leave any fabric left?" Dartagnan questioned him, receiving a nod as an answer.

Nearly an hour later Clopin proudly held up his puppet, which, surprisingly, was very well made. The puppet had a fuschia and royal blue tunic with a yellow over-shawl with little golden bells, it's hands were covered with black gloves. The figure had a large smile on it's face, a rather long nose, and wore a fuschia mask. Clopin had given the puppet straight, shoulder-length black hair, a golden hoop earring, and an extraordinary blue hat with a large yellow feather sticking out the top of it.

"I'm done, Papa!" Clopin showed his father, grinning from ear to ear.

"Not quite, my son. He still needs a name," Dartagnan reminded Clopin lightly.

"Lil Clopin. Just like me," Clopin stated matter-of-factly, cradling the puppet lovingly.

"Very well. The next time you come to my wagon, be sure to bring him and I will teach you how to maneuver him to delight your audiences," Dartagnan said to the young gypsy prince. "Now, before I leave I need you to do me a favor."

"Yes, Papa," Clopin answered as a son should, but with an eager look on his face, glad to be able to do something important. There was no doubt in Dartagnan's mind that the eleven-year-old's ego had grown since he had come to the wagon that afternoon.

"There is a gypsy girl waiting in the cemetary. She is a little younger than you. You are to go to the cemetary and bring her to the Court of Miracles safely. Do try not to show off too much. This is very important that you bring her back safely. Once you are in the Court, do not stop and speak to your friends, bring her straight to our tent and wait for me to get there. Try to make her feel at home, she's never been to the Court of Miracles before now," Dartagnan explained Clopin's mission to him, making sure he understood what was to be done.

"Don't worry Papa, I won't scare her away," Clopin grinned at his father. The boy scooped up his puppet, attached him to his belt, and with that he ran out the door in the direction of the cemetary.

'Let's hope not,' Dartagnan thought to himself as he readied himself for one last errand before returning home.


	6. A Meeting In the Fog

**DISCLAIMER: I still do not own Hunchback of Notre Dame.**

**Author's Note:** Here it is, at last! The chapter that inspired me to write the other five. Sadly, it's not how I had played it out in my mind, but I still hope you will enjoy what I produced.

* * *

Chapter Six : A Meeting IntheFog

The evening of June 17, 1469 was a particularly foggy one for Paris, France. A person couldn't take two steps out of their house, turn, and see their home through the thick fog. Naturally, this delighted the young Clopin Trouillefou as Frollo's guards were already out, trying to intimidate any gypsies or other vagabonds up on the streets.

"Alas! It seems the guards won't be able to capture any of my people tonight, or any other scoundrels either. This fog is so thick, they won't even be able to see me!" the gypsy prince whispered excitedly to himself. A sly grin appeared on the youngsters face as a mischevious idea grew in his cunning mind.

"A few guards are no match for a gypsy prince such as myself. They are not intelligent nor cunning enough to figure out what hit them," he continued, peeking around a corner in an alleyway, listening for the sounds of horses hooves. Surprised, he heard the sounds of men dismounting from their horses and the sounds of the spurs worn on the boots of the guards entering the building he was leaning against. Clopin put his ear up against the wall and heard the sounds of laughter, slurred speeches, and joyful bar music.

"The guards have gone into the tavern and left their horses all but available! This will work better than I had hoped," the eleven year old whispered and strode out of the alleyway he had been hiding in as the great bells of Notre Dame struck nine. He paused for a moment as he made his way to the horses to show them he was not trying to be forceful. After reassurance from the beasts that he had their trust, he stepped forward and proceeded with his plan.

* * *

Jacques Lamoussant and Bertrand DuPont strode into the Golden Lark Inn & Tavern after being relieved of their duties for the night. Jacques, who was considerably larger than Bertrand, held open the door and nearly pushed Bertrand in, unaware of his own force. 

"Ah, the beautiful Marie!" the burly guard exclaimed as he saw his favorite barmaid, Marie Clemens. "Two pints of beer, s'il vous plait."

The pretty woman nodded and left to fetch their drinks. The two gentlemen took the liberty of seating themselves at the bar, which, surprisingly, wasn't as packed as it usually was.

"How was your 'delivery' earlier today?" Jacques asked, tapping his sausage-like fingers on the bar as the pair waited for their beers.

"It went well. Frollo will be pleased with his new servant," he responded grimly. At that moment Marie appeared in front of them with their mugs in hand. The two men nodded their thanks and went to work on their drinking. Words were not exchanged between the two for quite a while, long enough for each to guzzle down four mugs of beer.

"Let's hope he's not _too_ pleased," Jacques exclaimed, laughing in a drunken stupor at his own crude remark. Bertrand shook his head, which turned out to be a bad idea as a wave of sickness passed over his body.

A few shouts from the tavern and the whinny of their horses tied up outside disturbed the drinking of the two guards, who were now curious as to why their horses were making a commotion. Jacques and Bertrand leaned against one another and carefully made their way to the door so as to make sure neither of them fell over. Once outside, Bertrand made steadied himself and made his way over to the posts where they had tied their horses.

"Here horsey, horsey," he slurred, laughing stupidly. He grasped around for a moment, his hands not reaching anything remotely close to a horse. Jacques made a coughing sound which was followed by a laugh.

"Are they hidin' from you?" he called out to Bertrand, causing the thinner man to blush in the, now, dark.

"They're not here!" Bertrand returned to his partner with a very confused expression on his face.

"Well then, you'll just have to find them, now, won't you? Frollo's little guards, duped by the glorious Prince of Gypsies!" exclaimed Clopin from behind them, startling the pair. The young gypsy leaned against the corner he had been hiding behind earlier, the smug grin on his face illuminated by the oil lamp outside the door.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I must go. Au revoir!" he bowed as the guards realized what the boy was telling them and started towards him. Clopin sprinted down the street with the speed of a worthy war horse. Once he believed himself to be out of their reach, he slipped into a park and proceeded on his way to the cemetary.

* * *

As the bells chimed eight o'clock, Gitana Aurelia tired of waiting in the cemetary. The girl realized she hadn't eaten since supper the night before. She felt around in the pockets her mother had sown onto the skirt of her dress and found a brass coin, just enough to buy a piece of fruit at a vendor's stand. Making her way through the thick fog, she came upon an apple vendor. With the aid of the oil lamps in the houses behind the cart she was able to select a nice, red, ripe apple. 

"Ah, what is it you want?" the vendor asked harshly, automatically suspicious of her because of her skin.

"I'd like to buy this apple," Gitana replied timidly, holding out her coin to him, trying to prove her sincerity.

"I don't sell to thieves," the man replied, his face reddening.

"I'm not a thief! My mama gave me this coin!" the girl protested, her throat constricting as she mentioned her mother.

"Oh really! Just where is your mother, then?" the cruel man exclaimed. At no answer from the gypsy girl he sneered and pushed her out onto the street, causing her to stretch her newly formed scab open.

Gitana let her welled up tears roll down her cheeks. Notre Dame struck nine, and, worried that she had missed the gypsy she was waiting for, ran back to the cemetary.

The girl passed a few statues of Christian saints as she made her way to a spot where she could easily watch for someone to enter the cemetary. Exhausted from her eventful day, Gitana leaned against the tombstone behind her head, the name Orville etched onto the crumbling stone. A few sobs escaped her lips as her parents entered her mind as she tried to occupy herself. Memories with her family flooded her mind as she cried next to the tombstone.

* * *

Clopin Trouillefou made a quiet entrance into the graveyard that hid the Court of Miracles. He took a glance around, looking for the little girl his father had told him about. Not seeing anyone else there, he shrugged and started walking to the other side of the cemetary, looking to see if she was hiding. While stopping to scowl at a large statue of the Virgin Mary, he heard the soft sound of sobs coming from a rather sad tombstone to his left. Walking towards the sound, he became more curious as to what could be wrong with the person.

Clopin stood on his tip-toes and peered down at the girl from above. She clearly didn't notice him there, giving the boy the opportunity to look her over. The girl wore a tattered blue dress with unusual pockets sown onto the skirt, her black hair was all mussed up, her brown skin covered in dirt.

"Who are you?" the boy startled the girl, causing her to look up at him with her wide black eyes.

"I'm Gitana, are you the one the man sent?" she asked him, instantly trusting the flamboyantly dressed gypsy. The boy gave her a lopsided grin, and bowed to her.

"Clopin Trouillefou, at your service," he introduced himself, sitting down next to her, the small bells on his overshawl jingling.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she responded, remembering her manners.

"Truly an honor, now, what has made you cry?" the gypsy prince asked Gitana, a worried, caring look coming over him.

"My m-mama and papa were k-k-killed. My little s-sister was taken away. The g-guard that killed my m-mama also c-c-cut me, on my side. I'm all alone n-now. My mama told me to go t-to the Court of M-M-Miracles. I came to Paris to f-find it, and a man t-told me to wait h-here for someone. I got h-hungry and went to b-buy an apple. The man pushed me down and now I'm b-bleeding again," she sobbed out, wiping her tears with her dirty hands. Young Clopin's heart went out to the poor girl.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "Let me see your wound."

Gitana's eyes widened, but she stood up and pulled apart the pieces of fabric near her wound, allowing the boy to examine it. He rummaged through a small sack tied to his belt and finally pulled out a small bottle of some type of liquid. He poured the mixture onto a cloth from his pouch and knelt on one knee, looking up at Gitana.

"This will sting a bit, but it will help," he said, trying to warn her. He gently cleaned out her wound with the concoction. He was surprised that the girl didn't jump, he himself usually did everytime the Court healers had to treat one of his wounds.

"Thank you," whispered Gitana, hugging on to his body. At first Clopin was surprised at this gesture, but welcomed it and hugged the girl back. Despite his young age, he felt the need to protect this new girl.

'How could my father have left her alone?' he thought to himself.


End file.
